lucretia
by Josefin Tonks
Summary: "Bonhomme stared at Enjolras. Maybe in a manner that was to be considered abnormal, in a way that would make someone who payed attention wonder, maybe even fear, what was hidden inside the mind of his." (TW: implied rape, violence. The relationships in this are either unrequited or just implied. ExR)
1. Chapter 1

His name was Bonhomme and he was liked from the start. He was a few years older than most of them, he had left school and was employed as a lawyer, instantly gaining approval of Bahorel. When asked why he did join them, his answer was simple. He believed in the Republic. Most of all, he believed in Enjolras. He had heard him speak to a group of workers when passing by a factory and became curious of their ideas, and later convinced.

He soon became a valuable member, having contacts in the more dangerous parts of Paris. He could get them weapon, ammunition, everything they needed for the uprising as long as they asked of it. He wanted nothing in return, his passion for their cause being enough motivation.

He was witty, smart and friendly. It was not surprising how quickly he and Enjolras became friends as they were alike, almost as twins in personality, but personality only as Bonhomme was quite ordinary, almost ugly while Enjolras was the definition of beauty.

The two of them lingered after meetings, talking in huddled voices, sharing laughs and smiles. And when it was time for them all to leave, they left together as they lived in the same part of the city, a few streets from each other.

Courfeyrac joked about their leader would not be a virgin for much longer.

That predicament would prove to be true.

* * *

Bonhomme stared at Enjolras. He did it a lot. He shared that with Grantaire, who's eyes never left their young leader.

Grantaire did not like the way Bonhomme stared at him. He knew it was out of jealousy he disliked it. He did not like the man and in the beginning made fun of him in a cruel manner. It was wrong of him to do so, he told himself. Jealousy it was. The man was everything he was not, and he had managed to gain the trust and friendship of the man he loved with all of his being, his Apollo, who had been his whole world for so long.

He stopped with the crude remarks and the awful jokes as he could not stand the way Enjolras frowned and took him in defence. And Bonhomme made him happy, which was more than Grantaire had ever done.

Bonhomme stared at Enjolras. Maybe in a manner that was to be considerer abnormal, in a way that would make someone who payed attention wonder, maybe ever fear, what was hidden inside the mind of his.

Grantaire payed attention, and he did wonder. But he also told himself that it was jealousy and drank ever more to drown the uneasy feeling in his gut whenever the two of them, Bonhomme and Enjolras, left the café together.

Later, Grantaire would regret not listening to his instincts.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras was behaving strangely. He was withdrawn, not speaking unless spoken to. He was lost in thoughts most of the meeting, at times not even seeming to hearing what the others had to say. To say that Combeferre was worried would be an understatement. This behaviour was something he never before had seen in Enjolras in all years knowing him. He seemed to have changed overnight. Combeferre's train of thoughts was interrupted by Feuilly's voice.

"Enjolras, where did you get that bruise?" he had asked, silencing the ongoing debate between Courfeyrac and Bahorel.

Combeferre suddenly noticed it as well, it being painfully obvious now. That he had missed it before was almost embarrassing. It was on the area around his jaw down towards his neck, large and colourful. It would have made him laugh, the blue and red tones almost forming the French flag, if it was not for the fact that his friend had been hurt by someone.

"I was mugged," Enjolras said. "It is nothing worth fussing over."

"Are you sure? I can have a look at it," Joly offered.

Enjolras was beginning to look annoyed. "There is no need for that."

"Have you told the police?", another voice was heard. "What did they take from you?"

"Only such things that do not matter for me to have lost ", he answered, his voice now completely devoid of any emotion, and yet the sentence was said in such manner that it made other wonder if there was something more to that phrase than what was said out loud. Combeferre frowned, but decided to leave it be. It was typical for Enjolras to shrug a thing like that off. What he would condemn others for doing against his friends, he would be indifferent to when committed against himself.

"I am glad that you are well at least," he said, putting a hand on his friends shoulder meant for comfort and closure.

All but one oblivious of the way Enjolras flinched as Combeferre touched him, or how he, during the whole conversation, never broke eye contact with Bonhomme.

"Can we go on now?" Enjolras said,"We have more important matters to discuss."

And so they proceeded with their planning, the previous events not completely forgotten but ignored for the moment.

Grantaire, having been silent during the whole evening, frowned, an uneasy feeling washing over him. There was something in Enjolras eyes...

Accusation.

Grantaire did not like the implication of that.

Weeks passed. The bruises on Enjolras had faded, but his behavior had not changed since that night. If something, he was even more withdrawn than ever, only to speak when it was for his cause or when being spoken to. His passion had not disappeared along with his happy mood. Instead, seemed to be stronger, more of a leader than ever before, radiating with the wrath of the gods when speaking of injustice and the monarchy and his promises of a better future for the working class seemed to entice the ones being spoken to even more.

It is to be said again that this only was when it served his cause. When not speaking of the rights of man, he was quiet, almost seeming to be sad. His friends were worried, but choose to let it pass, figuring that if it was something bothering him, he would tell them. It could very well be something as simple as stress, which was something they all experienced once in a while, most of them being students.

Another thing they noted, besides his gloomy mood, was that he and Bonhomme no longer seemed to that close of friends as before. Enjolras seemed to try to avoid him, as he did with the rest of them. They still left together, Bonhomme never staying longer than Enjolras, always offering to accompany Enjolras on his way home, to Enjolras dismay. It was always the same scenario, same phrases being used.

_"It is time for me to leave." _

_"I will go with you." _

_"There is no need." _

_"I want to." _

_"If you insist." _

If it had been any other person than Bonhomme, Grantaire would have overlooked it. He would have disregarded it as a person being worried about another. Paris was a dangerous place at night, and it was common sense to have company on your way home at the evening. With any other person, it would have been a nice gesture.

But Grantaire did not trust him and therefore mistrusted all of his actions. He knew that the distrust was illogical because Bonhomme had done nothing wrong. He was a nice person and Grantaire could at times, against his own will, find himself to enjoy his company once in a while, at times forgetting the memory of Enjolras flinching, the accusing look in Enjolras eyes after the mugging so many weeks ago when he looked at Bonhomme and the sickening way in which Bonhomme looked at Enjolras in return But the memories always surfaced in the end, forcing him to be on his guard once more.

He hoped that his suspicions would prove to be incorrect.


	3. Chapter 3

On the table, in front of the chair in which Enjolras only an hour ago had sat, was a bundle of papers. To be precise, the papers he had written on the whole evening. He had said that they were important when Combeferre asked , that he needed to finish them before the day was over. He had even stressed the importance of them a numerous of times. Enjolras could not be so thoughtless to leave them behind by accident.

Grantaire realised in that moment that it was on purpose they were left behind. Enjolras had wanted someone to go after him. Without wasting another second, he got up, grabbed the documents, and left, leaving his friends behind and them, as usual, not noticing him ever leaving.

He was ashamed over how well he knew the way to Enjolras home without even having been invited to it. He had followed Enjolras once, in his drunken stupor, wanting to talk to him, to ask for his forgiveness after a meeting where he once again had insulted Enjolras ideas, which was to insult the man himself. When he was in front of the house, he could notice a figure leaving it. It was a man, and at closer inspection he could see the face of him. Bonhomme. He should have known that.

Bonhomme noticed him as well. "Grantaire," he said, his voice cold, an underlying tone of suspicion in it. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," he answered, before bringing up the papers in his hand, waving them in front of Bonhomme, almost smacking him in the face. "Our dear Leader seems to have forgotten these. I decided to do some good and return them to him."

Bonhomme eyed him. "I could deliver them for you. I was just there myself."

"There is no need for that. I wish to see him. I have not gotten the chance to speak to him in a while."

At his refusal to give up the papers, Bonhomme's eyes turned harsh. His voice as well.

"I do not wish to be rude , my friend, but I believe he would prefer me to deliver them to him. He appreciate my company over yours, after all."

Ah, that comment, that would have stung any other night, did no damage to him at all, strangely enough. In an attempt to protect his own skin like a wounded animal would continue to lash out towards it's attackers even when outnumbered, he had accidentally betrayed his position by doing so. Grantaire had gotten the closest thing to a confession he could out of the other man. Bonhomme did not want him to meet Enjolras, even blocking his path to stop him, which meant that he was afraid of what their meeting would bring.

Grantaire would have pushed the man out of the way if it he had not noticed the way his hand hovered just above his hip. A gun, perhaps? Would the man be foolish enough to shoot him in the middle of the street if he disobeyed Bohomme's command, risking drawing attention to himself? No, it was not a gun, Grantaire decided. It was more likely a knife. It was silent, a far more convenient weapon for the devil in disguise of a man. Knives were easier to hide, only apparent to people who knew what to look for in the bearers stance.

(Grantaire used to wear one himself but he gambled it away and had not bothered to buy a new one.)

By preparing to wield the knife over such a small matter Bonhomme had unknowingly made another mistake, another confession of the crime Grantaire yet had to find out about. Because know he knew a crime had been committed, only not which.

Grantaire frowned, suddenly realizing the fate he could bring upon himself if he did not leave this very instant. He could not die without warning the rest of his friends, which forced him to take an decision he did not want to take, only going with it as it was the best option he had.

He unwillingly gave away the bundle in his hand, casting a last glance at the house, wondering over what was hidden inside of the four walls that Bonhomme desperately wanted to keep a secret, even going as far as planning a murder.

He left, hating himself even more for every step he took. He hoped, prayed that Enjolras was alright and that the gods would not punish him to harshly for leaving him in the company of that vile man.

To himself, he had proven once more why he was so undeserving of Enjolras friendship, abandoning him like the coward he was.

* * *

"So you have returned," Enjolras stated, not even casting a glance at the man in the doorway.

"I have", was the answer. "I met a friend of ours outside. He gave me these."

Not even a thud was heard when the papers dropped to the floor, scattering over the otherwise clean room.

"Did you leave them behind on purpose?" Bonhomme asked.

"I did."

"Why?"

"It does not matter now, does it?"

"No, it does not."

The both knew why he had done it, but Enjolras did not want to give him the pleasure to say it out loud. This small act of defiance angered Bonhomme who now was gripping his sore jaw , forcing Enjolras to look him in the eyes.

"Still", Bonhomme whispered, his grip tightening, his fingernails digging in to the soft skin of the younger mans face, "Do not do it again. You know what happens if you do. "

He released him, leaving the home as quickly as he came, Enjolras breathing a sigh of relief as the mans footsteps faded away. He went to bed only a few minutes later, exhausted. He told himself as he fell asleep that it all would be worth it in the end.


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire could not sleep that night. It was of two reasons, one being that he was not drunk, which always made it harder for him to fall asleep. The other reason was that his mind refused him the rest he so sorely needed, being occupied by more important matters. Enjolras.

For him, Enjolras was one of the few good things that had happened to him in his life. His passion, for a cause Grantaire himself could not find himself to care about, had at first made him envious as he never had anything to believe in. Enjolras saw every man as his brother and ever woman as his sister, mankind itself being his family. He trusted every person from the start, almost in a childlike manner. Trust was something he gave away freely until someone was proven untrustworthy. He believed all to be his equals, even the people who were enemies to his cause. It was not in his nature to hate, although he was capable of it.

Enjolras was a good man to the core. In Grantaire's eyes, no one could be greater.

After meeting Enjolras he began to experience an emotion he hardly ever had felt before. Hope. It was then, when he once again had the privilege to experience such a pure emotion he found himself believing in something. He did not believe in their cause, he did not believe in the future. He only believed in Enjolras, simple as that.

Before Enjolras, he had been quite content with being a useless drunk. After being introduced to the man, he had wished to become something more than he already was, desperately seeking any chance to prove himself worthy and capable to Enjolras. He would do anything for the man without caring about the consequences. He would gladly die for the man if that meant that Enjolras would find him useful.

Meeting Enjolras had changed little in him, as he still was cynical, addicted to the taste of wine, making fun of everything he could find, refusing to believe in a world that did not believe In him. And yet, he had changed much. Did that even make sense, that a man could change much but yet so little?

He often found himself thinking of Enjolras before going to sleep, the thought of the man comforted him like a prayer to a god could comfort a believer, or like a mother's soft voice could bring her children to sleep.

Only now, the thought of him was not comforting at all. He was worried instead, wondering if it had been a bad decision of his to leave earlier. When he thought it through, he could not help but to think that he perhaps had overestimated the danger in the situation he had been in before. He could, come to think of it, have wrestled the knife out of Bonhomme's hand without bringing to much damage to himself. He could have knocked the man unconscious before he even had the chance wrap his hand around it's handle, bringing it forth to defend himself.

But then again, he did not know what that would lead to in the end. He doubted that the other man would let a thing such as that pass, and he might have not only endangered his own life, and Enjolras' as well if Bonhomme saw it fit. He could have put all of his friends in a dangerous position.

No wonder he could not fall asleep, with this conflict in his mind. He did not know whether to regret his decision or not, to feel as if he had abandoned his God or had done him a favor by leaving. He knew he had to reach out to the man, before it was to late. He could not imagine what he would do if the only light in his life faded away.  
'Tomorrow', he thought. 'Tomorrow, I will know what is causing him grief.' And tomorrow, or the day after that, he would avenge him. He lulled himself to sleep with these promises on his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Things had not gone the way Grantaire planned, as they rarely did. He was supposed to go to Enjolras the first thing he did when he woke up, not wanting to wait any longer than he already had. He had forgotten the fact that Enjolras had classes during the day completely. Instead, he had to wait until the evening, maybe being able to talk to Enjolras at the café.

Grantaire was sure that Enjolras would be there. He was always there, even though he hardly talked or drank with the rest of them. He came because of Combeferre, Grantaire believed. Enjolras was friends with everyone in their group, but he and Combeferre were closer. They often sat quiet together, not needing to speak as such was the nature of their friendship. The silence was never uncomfortable for them, they did not have to have a conversation to enjoy each others company.

He had to stop himself as he could feel the jealousy he carried inside of him swell up once more, having to take a large breath to subdue it. It was wrong of him to be jealous but he still was. He was jealous of everyone who shared something special with Enjolras , something he never would experience. Most of the time Enjolras seemed to barely tolerate him. He had only himself to blame. He was sure that he made the other man uncomfortable with his behavior, especially when he was intoxicated. If he gave the bottle up, would Enjolras like him better? He doubted it.

Once again, he had to stop his thoughts from running freely.

Oh, how ridiculous and self-centered he was. How could he focus on such trivial matters when the man he claimed to love was hurting? He could have wasted his time better than to wallow in his own self-pity. He still did not know how to approach the subject. Was he even the right man to do so? Shouldn't the task be better suited for Combeferre, whom Enjolras liked better? Was his will to help only rooted in his will to gain Enjolras approval, to show to him what a good friend he could be?

He forced these thoughts away from his mind. No matter his reasons, if it was out of care or out of selfishness, he needed to confront Enjolras.

'Tomorrow' had become 'today', and 'today' had turned into 'tonight'.

* * *

He had spent the day together with Feuilly, to make time pass by quicker and to distract himself from more serious thoughts. He enjoyed the mans company, as Feuilly laughed at his jokes and did not mind that Grantaire disturbed him in his work. They went together to the Musain being, surprisingly, the last ones to arrive.  
The hours went by, Grantaire never allowing himself to rest. Finally Enjolras stood up, saying a quick goodbye before walking towards the door.

"May I go with you?", Grantaire asked before Bonhomme had the chance. "Will the great Apollo bless me with his company, the privilege to followhim such a dark night as this? "  
Enjolras seemed surprised over the suggestion, trying to detect any sort of mockery in the voice but finding nothing. He stared at Grantaire, a curious glint in his eyes before nodding.

He could feel a pair of eyes on him as he left, knowing exactly who they did belong to.

Grantaire grabbed Enjolras before he could walk off in his usual direction. It was a bad decision of him to do so, as Enjolras visibly stiffened, shaking him off with unnecessary violence.

" Don't touch me."

"You need to follow me", was Grantaire's reply, ignoring the glare from the other man.

"Why would I do that?" Enjolras asked. "It was you who offered to follow me, after all. "

"I need to talk to you."

"And you are not capable of doing it here?"

"No. And you know fully well why I can't."

Silence. And was that shame in his eyes?

"Then you must know why I can't follow you", Enjolras finally said. "We can talk at my place. He will not interrupt us tonight. "


	6. Chapter 6

They were seated at Enjolras' dinner table. It was small, Grantaire had expected something grander. Enjolras had lit a single candle. It was not enough to make the room bright, but that was not his intention. It was to make it look as if he already was asleep, the candle not being strong enough to be seen from outside the window. They sat in front of each other without talking at first. Enjolras had offered Grantaire wine and he had declined, wanting to make sure that he was completely sober just this once. After a while, Enjolras spoke.

"I assume It was you he met?"Enjolras said, not caring to specify who 'he' was, as they both already knew. "I was hoping it would be Combeferre, and that he would have followed me as soon as I left." Maybe the evening would have ended differently, if he had.

"What has he been doing to you?" Grantaire asked, not completely ignoring whatEnjolras had said but not fully acknowledging it.

Enjolraswas not sure of how to explain it. He did not know if he even wanted to, as it only would make it all more real.  
He often found himself thinking of that night, and the many nights that followed. He did not want to do it but he did. It was a hard to forget it even for a few hours. The thoughts always came back and so did the pain in his chest, the awful feeling in his whole body. It felt as if he w as to be swallowed whole, as if someone was chewing on his heart. He felt shame as well, although he did not know why. He was no the one who had-...

What word was the right one to use? How does one begin to describe such a horrible betrayal? Many of them had to do with honour and with purity, or to take away with force. He disliked them. How could a crime committed against him dishonour him? How could anyone mean that it made him fouler?

He settled for the only way he thought would fit. Since it could not be explained in a single word or a sentence, he told Grantaire everything.

"You need to tell the others", Grantaire whispered, his eyes wet with tears. "They must know of this."  
"I will not", Enjolras said.

"If you refuse, I will tell them myself."  
"And go against my wishes just as he did?" was his harsh reply.

Grantaire felt as if he had been struck. Maybe a slap would have been kinder. 'It is not the same,' he wanted to say. 'Don't compare me to him.' But the words refused to leave his lips, and maybe that was for the best. To utter those words would feel selfish. This was not about his hurt feelings. And maybe he deserved it, that awful comment.

"I will kill him", he said instead.

His voice came out calm, which surprised him. It did not reflect the turmoil inside of him, the wild, mad fury and the utter devastation he felt over what had happened to his friend, his light in the word. He did not only want to kill, he wanted to brutalize.

"I will kill him", he repeated, "And bring you justice."

"Where is the justice in revenge?" Enjolras asked. "If you were to kill him, it would be murder. I will not allow you to bring damnation upon your soul."

"I do not care about my soul. I would gladly give it away if it was to protect you."

"No."

"If he is alive, he is a danger to all of us", Grantaire said. It sounded like a plea. Maybe it was. "What else is there to do?"

Enjolras fell silent. What were his other options? He could not report it to the police. Bonhomme knew to much about them and the other groups in Paris. He could bring the revolution down before the barricades even got the chance to rise. And even if Bonhomme kept quiet about their plans, would the police even believe him? Was it even a crime when committed against a man? Would he be laughed at? Would he be blamed for it himself, as many women before him?

Bonhomme would not leave him alone either, he would not stop. Would he be forced to endure his torture as long as Bonhomme found it entertaining? Would the man kill him when he got bored in hope that no one would find out about the atrocities he had done? Enjolras did not doubt it. Wouldthat become his fate if he did not act sooner?

Would it feel the same when at the barricades? Would he hesitate to shoot, even when in self-defense? Would he weep for every soldier killed, every friend he could have known lost? The only difference between the two scenarios was that one threatened his life, the other his cause. But was it not about the same thing in the end, ending oppression and gaining freedom, one only being on a personal level?

Grantaire was right, he realized. He would be forced to take the man's life, no matter how immoral and wrong it felt, at least if he wanted to get out of his torturous grasp. But to sit down and plan another man's demise? It was sick, horrible. But he would have to do it, to ensure his own safety. Why did it hurt so much, to take that decision?  
He realized that he still, after all the man had done to him, considered him a friend. Even though he despised the man, hated him with all the energy he could muster, there was a part of him that felt just a tiny bit of compassion and love as well.

He took a deep breath, hoping that his voice would not fail him.

"I suppose you are right. If the situation calls for it, if he hurts me once more, I will do what I can to help myself", he said, his voice soft, not at all reflecting what he was feeling.

He closed his eyes when he started to feel them water. Grantaire's arms were around him, pulling him into a soft, airy hug, his hands barely touchinghis body. Enjolras did not push him away.


End file.
